


The Hurt Lark Song

by alittlelark



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dorks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt isn't good with words, Getting Together, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, Mutilation, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, after 1x06, poor boy what have i done to him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22959031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlelark/pseuds/alittlelark
Summary: Geralt took his time to look at him, all wrapped up in clothes clearly too loose for him.He looked tired, with dark circles under his usually light blue eyes; now the color of his irises, normally similar to that of the clear sky during a winter morning, looked darker thanks to the dim light, like the ocean on a stormy day instead.Even if a week and a half has almost passed since he showed up covered in blood, scared, burning for the fever and shivering so hard he couldn’t even stand on his own legs, he still looked as pale and exhausted as the day he arrived.At least, now he was able to sit without passing out.He didn’t want to think what would have happened to him if he hadn’t found him.Post 1x06 because I'm a bad person. Jaskier is hurt, Geralt blames himself.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 397





	The Hurt Lark Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CamilleDuDemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleDuDemon/gifts).



> For the friends I don't deserve but I'm lucky to have found. Love you both, big sis and my Broh!

It was a cold winter night: outside, the wind was howling, making the old rocks of the building creak like the bones of an unnaturally large and old beast inside whom they were silently hiding and resting.

The room was quite warm though, thanks to the large logs burning in the giant fireplace, flames casting long flickering shadows on the walls and on the bare floor. 

Jaskier was sitting in an enormous armchair, so big that it seemed like he was being swallowed up by the dark red material of the seat.

Geralt was sitting on the opposite side, in a similar armchair, but despite it being extremely comfortable and even bigger than the bard’s, he kept shifting and changing position as if he couldn’t find a proper way to sit.

On the contrary, the bard was as still as if he had been frozen, the bare feet pulled up while he was curled up like a cat.

He looked even smaller than he usually did next to the Witcher.

Geralt took his time to look at him, all wrapped up in clothes clearly too loose for him.

He looked tired, with dark circles under his usually light blue eyes; now the color of his irises, normally similar to that of the clear sky during a winter morning, looked darker thanks to the dim light, like the ocean on a stormy day instead.

Even if a week and a half has almost passed since he showed up covered in blood, scared, burning for the fever and shivering so hard he couldn’t even stand on his own legs, he still looked as pale and exhausted as the day he arrived.

At least, now he was able to sit without passing out.

He didn’t want to think what would have happened to him if he hadn’t found him.

“Are you watching me, Witcher?”

Jaskier didn’t even bother to raise his eyes from the book he was struggling to hold straight enough to read it, but the attempt he made to use a playful tone was quickly muffled by the frailty of his own voice, so weak that for a second Geralt wondered if a human could actually hear it.

“Why should I” he asked back, trying to move his eyes away from his figure, failing in the attempt as Jaskier looked up, meeting his gaze.

“I don’t know, you’re the one who’s staring” he offered, letting the book quietly fall on his folded legs.

He knew why, but he pretended not to.

After a moment, Geralt broke the eye contact, bringing himself to look away, ashamed of himself.

“I’m sorry” he said, almost imperceptibly shaking his head.

“I know you are” Jaskier said, quietly “even if you’re not apologizing for looking at me, aren’t you?”

Geralt didn’t bother to answer at that obviously rhetorical question.

He sighed, licking his broken and dry lips, pausing for an instant before saying “You don’t need to be sorry. I’ll be fine. I’m fine”

“No you’re not” snapped the Witcher, bringing back his eyes on him “You’re not fine, Jaskier. How could you be? You’re hurt because of me I’m-”

“I’m hurt” Jaskier interrupted, raising a finger like a mother scolding a child, holding back his gripes to talk “and that’s it. Not because of you. I’m hurt because, well, Geralt, bad things happen, and you can’t always be there to stop them. I’m not dead, I’m not dying - well, I am, but not in the immediate future - I’m just hurt and I’ll be ok. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but sooner or later I’ll be. Don’t you think I’m sorry too? I feel miserable, but I’m trying not to stick to it thinking that at least I’m still here. It will take time, of course, but I’ll eventually get over it. But I can’t heal if you keep looking at me like that” he said, panting a bit when he finished.  
Geralt swallowed, hard.

“Like what” he asked, stupidly, don’t knowing what to say: Jaskier was right, he wasn’t dead, but thinking about what they had done to him was unbearable, especially knowing that- no matter what the bard had said – it almost certainly wouldn’t have happened if he’d been there.

He couldn’t help but blame himself.

“Like I’m growing a second head or…” Jaskier raised his hand, waving it weakly “like a puppet that knows he destroyed the his owner’s favorite bunch of flowers, like a child who broke his friends’ toy like… like... fuck, like it’s your damn fault, Geralt!” he yelled, eyes sparkling with tears “Because, you know, it doesn’t help. You only make me suffer more. Seeing you like that it’s-” he stopped himself, catching his breath before resettling himself on the chair, straightening up a bit “it’s not your fault if I’m just a stupid bard who can’t even defend himself, Geralt. It’s not your fault. We parted more than once before and even if you feel bad for why I left, you can’t change the fact that while we were not together, everything could have happened to me. Not because it’s your fault, but because, as I said, that’s how life works! Do you feel bad for pushing me away? Good, because that was one of a shitty move, but what happened next… none of your business. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. So stop looking like a beaten dog, because I’m the musician who has found himself without a hand and unable to play and what I want it surely isn’t a stupid Witcher’s pity!” 

He sniffed, blinking quickly, tears now falling down his cheeks.

He didn’t do anything at all to stop them.

“So what do you want” Geralt desperately asked, trying to breathe despite the weight he was feeling pressing on his chest, making the usually simple task hard enough to make him struggle.

“I just want my friend back, you big oaf, that’s all I want!” Jaskier screamed back, leaning toward him too quickly: he immediately paled, his skin looking as blank as chalk, his eyes going blind.

Geralt promptly rushed up and gently grabbed him before he could fall off the armchair and hurt himself even more.

He didn’t care about the book which had fallen onto the floor with a muffled thud.

Carefully, he guided him back, trying to settle him in what he hoped was a comfortable position.

“Easy, easy now, Jaskier...” he muttered softly, so softly he wasn’t even sure the bard could actually hear what he was saying. 

Not that it mattered.

A small part of his mind tried to recall the last time he had heard himself using such a delicate tone and he wasn’t surprised when he found out he couldn’t actually remember it.

That didn’t matter either.

The important thing was to never use again such a harsh tone like he did the last time they talked.

When he pushed him away, when he had the gut to accuse him for his own mistakes, putting them on him, hurting him as hard as he could, almost _wanting_ to.

If he couldn’t blame himself hard enough he would blame someone else and the only one available was Jaskier.

Truth is, he had done nothing wrong: he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Worst thing was that he didn’t try to stop him: he simply let him go, watching while he disappeared, looking like a beaten dog, not even bothering to try to-

“Geralt” 

His voice brought him back to reality.

He looked down, Jaskier still trembling in his arms, the healthy hand - the only one he had been left with, and the thought send a cold shiver down his spine and up to his head - squeezing his forearm in a soft and weak grip, the bard clearly trying to hold onto him.

“I’m here” he said in response, gently squeezing his shoulder back, barely hard enough to make him feel it but too afraid of hurting him to do otherwise.

“Sorry, I think I blacked out for a second-moved too fast...” Jaskier muttered, slowly trying to sit back, struggling.

He helped him in the task, gently pulling his hair away from his forehead covered in cold sweat.

“It’s fine” he said, gently “Easy now” he repeated, watching him trying to reconnect himself with his surroundings.

When he was sure he was steadily and safely resting against the smooth seat back, he tried to back away, but Jaskier didn’t let him - well, not that he could physically stop him, he wouldn’t even be able to prevent him from retreating while he was on full strength, let alone now, but if the soft tightening of his grip meant something surely was to don’t move.

So, he didn’t.

“Please” he said quietly, slowly looking up at him, his eyes the bluest as they had ever been after he cried, still watery because of the tears and the fever “don’t”.

It wasn’t actually a request, but Geralt nodded, freezing in the weird position he was in, half standing and half crouching down towards him.

The Witcher listened as his heartbeat got slowly back into a normal rhythm, just imperceptibly a little faster than usual - then again, not that Jaskier could have minded it, the variation too minimal for his human senses to catch.

An unusual silence had fallen over them, only broken by the crackling of the flames.

It wasn’t the first time: it had happened a lot in the past few days.

It was Jaskier - of course - who talked first.

“Can you stay here with me? Just for some minutes? Please?” he asked, forcing his voice out.  
He was still weak, Geralt was perfectly aware of that - the blood loss had been severe, and his body was still trying to heal.

He hesitated, but then he nodded.

“Sure” he said.

Carefully trying to not hurt the other - not even accidentally, not anymore - Geralt gently scooted him over, making room for himself.

It became clear quite quickly that they couldn’t both fit in the same armchair, not sitting next to each other at least.

“Mmmh” muttered Geralt looking at the very insufficient space. There was no room for two people, especially considering one of them was a Witcher.

“What’s the problem?” asked Jaskier, sniffing and trying to wipe away his tears from his warm skin “Have you forgotten how to sit?”

Geralt decided to not remark the obvious problem because the bard seemed quite unwilling to let him use it as an excuse to not do what he asked for, so he just slid his arms under Jaskier’s.

“I’ll have to lift you up for a second” he warned, gently pulling him up a bit “I’ll make it quick” he said, starting to maneuver him, immediately stopping himself when he heard a high pitched yelp coming from the bard.

“Sorry” Jaskier rushed to say “It’s just… it’s fine don’t-” he tried, breathing a bit faster “sorry, moving my arm hurts. Pulling it doesn’t seem a great idea” he said apologetically.

“Oh. Right” Geralt said, stupidly.

Sweet Melitele, what was he thinking? He couldn’t even slightly lift his arm, what was he trying to do?

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Nonetheless, Jaskier looked at him with a soft smile - a ghost of the bright ones he usually threw at him, but still an improvement considering the tears of the first days - and gently patted his shoulder “Sorry Geralt”

“Don’t be. Not your fault. Let’s try this” he said, letting him go with a delicate move, sliding one of his arms under his knees and the other behind his back “Should work” he grunted, lifting him easily but slowly.

This time Jaskier flinched and squeezed his eyes close but didn’t scream in pain, so he rapidly proceeded to sit and place him in his lap, settling him down comfortably.

Not a hard task: Jaskier was as light as a feather.

“Here” he said, looking at his pale but content face “Is a Witcher such a comfortable sit, bard?” he asked, mockingly, trying to stop the intrusive thoughts telling him he did hurt him again just a second before, like he did some weeks ago, like he did so many times he-

Jaskier chuckled, a soft muffled sound that could be heard coming more from his chest than from his mouth.

“Not really. Truth be told, you’re as comfortable as a cushion made out of marble, but I think I can handle it” he answered, softly fluttering his eyes open to look at him.

Geralt sighed, trying to smile back but failing, feeling more like he just crumpled his face into a forced grimace.

Probably it was what he actually did, because Jaskier quietly reached over his face with his hand, passing his finger gently near his skin - no more than the ghostly feeling of an attempted touch - before putting a strand of white hair beneath his ear.

“Geralt” he said “please don’t look at me like you just butchered me. I didn’t ask you to sit with me just to have a better view on your grumpy face” he joked, poking gently at his solid shoulder with one finger, pressing it in his skin so gently the strength he used was probably not even enough to make his fingertip slightly dig into his flesh.

“Please” he said again “I really meant what I said. I don’t want you to stay with me because you pity my now miserable life without music, my new life as a useless bard and a not anymore lute player” he continued, a bit melodramatically, trying to lighten up the mood “I want my friend back, that’s all. My friend with his _I’m gonna gag you Jaskier_ and his _your songs and your singing are horrible like discovering a pie has no filling Jaskier_ just to hide - and I’m pretty sure about that or at least I hope so - that he actually loved both. My friend and everything about him and yes, even his stupid _hmmm fuck_ ” he said, teasing him, trying to mimic a lower and hoarser tone, matching the one of the Witcher’s every time he said something the other told him.

He paused, chuckling a bit because of his own bad impression, clearing his voice before speaking again.

“Sorry, that was really bad, but I had to do it now that you cannot give me one of your… surprisingly heavy pat” he said, pocking again at him, this time at his hand, resting motionless on his knees “Ow. But I’m serious, tho. I just want you back, Geralt” he said, gazing at him with his clear blue eyes “I just want _my_ Geralt back”

The last phrase was said ever so softly than for an instant Geralt believed he actually hallucinated it - for a while, he hoped he did, actually, hallucinate it. He looked at Jaskier, curled up in his lap, looking all wrecked and worn out.

He had weakly let himself go, almost as limply as a lifeless body, except he was very much alive and waiting for an answer.

Geralt procrastinated a bit before saying carefully “Do you really… want to be... my…” he looked for the right word, falling silent again.

“Friend?” suggested Jaskier after some seconds “You can say it. We are friends, Geralt. At least, we were. Am I right?” he asked, hesitation filling his voice now.  
Geralt looked at him, eyes wide opened and dry lips slightly parted.

He nodded, slowly.  
“I… yes. We were” he said before clearing his voice “I mean. We are. Friends. We are friends, Jaskier”

The word sounded strange in his mouth, but it wasn’t a bad feeling.

It tasted bittersweet on his tongue.

Jaskier smiled - a real smile this time - as bright as the sun.

“I knew it!” he said victoriously, even if his voice was still weak and a bit hoarse.

“But do you really want to be my friend again?” Geralt asked, steadying him placing a hand on his hip “After what I did to you-”  
“Yes” Jaskier interrupted, promptly, straightening up just a bit “I still want to be your friend, yes. I know you’re sorry for what you told me. I know. And I forgive you, Geralt, I already did. It wasn’t easy but I simply couldn’t be angry with you. It was unfair, as I said, but I’ve already forgiven you. I understand why you did it, tough”

Geralt raised his eyebrow, surprised by the bard’s outcome.

Jaskier had the extraordinary ability to always say something he wasn’t expecting.

“Because… I’m a prick?” he asked, making him chuckle softly again.

A sound he had feared to lose.

“Good point, but no” Jaskier answered, shaking his head before nodding wisely “If anything, during the time we spent together I got to know you and… the reason why you hurt me, deeply, is because you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know how to talk to me as a friend, so you just… pushed me away. Because you were hurt too. The problem with you, Geralt, is not that you don’t feel, but that you feel too much. And when you’re hurt, you don’t know how to act, so you push everyone you love away. You can’t handle your own emotions, so you push your pain on others, hoping this is enough to make them leave. So when they’re gone you’re free to put up your “I’m a big scary Witcher I don’t need people” attitude and ignore your feelings like they taught you. You’re scared of hurting the people you care about, but you then get hurt yourself and don’t know how to handle it. You prefer to let people believe you don’t need them so you can pretend you actually don’t, when you’re truly just trying to make them understand you’re suffering, deeply. Witchers bleed too. And not only physically. I’ve come to learn it, and I get this is your way to protect yourself, preventing pain. Like… if you’re alone you don’t have to worry about people hurting you, nor doing something wrong… and surely you don’t even have to think about others making you and your loved ones suffer. But you do need people. We all do. When you act like that… I don’t know what kind of Witcher’s shit you believe you’re doing, but to me you’re just behaving like someone tired of feeling an enormous amount of pain he doesn’t know how to ease. So you reject everyone and try to forget about the problem, even if this makes you suffer more because you know people you care about are feeling bad because of you. Can’t you see this simply can’t be right? We know the risks, Geralt. And if we choose to stay as your friends… it’s because we care about you too, you big oaf! And you can count on us. Because that’s what friends do! They help each other and… and they come back. Even when they’re hurt. Let me give you a simple advice: if you don’t want the people you love to get hurt… try not to be the first one to hurt them. That might actually work” he said, pausing briefly, his chest raising and falling rapidly.

He patted again at the Witcher’s hand, to shocked to even move.

He simply sat there, gaze locked on Jaskier’s blue eyes, shining with resolution and fierce.

The bard sighed and caught his breath before going on with his rant.

“Because eventually, people would get hurt” he muttered “And you can’t protect all of us, it’s true, but pushing everyone away it’s not the best solution. Truth be told, it’s not even a solution. Also, blaming yourself for everything isn’t a great move. Shit happens, Geralt!” he said, shrugging with just one shoulder “But you know why some feel the need to make this kind of thing happen? Sometimes because they are just... bad people. And sometimes… because they are miserable too, Geralt. And exactly like you, they hurt other people to let them feel their pain, to let them know there’s nothing left but suffering _._ Hurting me… was a way to hurt you using the people you care for, to make you feel guilty and unworthy of their love but it’s not like that, Geralt. You… deserve friends. I don’t know how to make you understand this simple concept, but… you deserve people who care about you. So yes, I want to be your friend, I still want to be with you and go on adventures together because I was so lonely before and I missed you so much because you are my best friend and I lo-” he stopped himself, voice cracking, and he swallowed, hard.

“I care about you” he finished, lowering his eyes, unlocking them from the Witcher’s.

“Besides, if you let _this_ ” he said after a moment of silence, pointing at his stump covered in freshly changed bands “come after you, they would win. They would have what they wanted, what they came for. And I don’t want to give them the satisfaction to take my life away from me. Not at all. So yeah… I still want to stick around, Geralt, and I forgive you for what you said to me, but it’s not for what you did, because you actually did nothing so that’s not your fault” he finished, his face now red for the effort it took him to rant this long and the fervor he putted in his words.

After that, he quietly snuggled in the Witcher’s lap, falling silent, letting him process what he had just told him.

It took Geralt a while to talk again, Jaskier’s words still echoing in his head, making him unable to give him a proper answer.

“How long you been waiting to bring that up?” he asked instead, his voice so low he wasn’t actually sure Jaskier could hear him well.

He did, tough, because after a second a small and sad smile raised on the corner of his lips.

“For quite a while, thanks for noticing” he answered, letting his head rest on Geralt’s chest, still not looking at him.

“I figured that out” the Witcher’s said, softly pulling him closer.

For quite a while the crackle of flames was the only sound to be heard except their breaths.

“I… don’t know what to say” Geralt spitted out after some minutes “I know this is not enough but… thank you, Jaskier”

Jaskier smile softened, his shoulders releasing a tension he was very much aware he was holding.

“It’s enough” he said, gently squeezing the Witcher’s forearm where his hand was resting “Actually, it means a lot so… thank you, too”

They stayed like that for a while, simply enjoying the now peaceful atmosphere.

It was just after some minutes that Geralt frowned, looking down at the sleepy bard between his arms.  
“What were you about to say?” 

“Mh?” Jaskier squinted his eyes, casting him a confused glance.

“When you said you are my friend and you care about me” the Witcher pointed out “you were about to say something else, but you stopped. What was that” 

The bard quickly awakened, immediately flushing.

“Nothing” he said rapidly, even too much.

“Liar”

The word came out of Geralt’s lip as quick as the suspicious bard’s answer.

“I’m not lying” Jaskier said, looking… utterly terrified, looking everywhere but him “I wasn’t… you misheard me”  
“No, I didn’t. And you’re lying, I can hear your pulse” the Witcher’s insisted, frowning even more “I want to know. What were you about to say?”

For the first time in his life, Jaskier was speechless.

He opened his mouth to let out an answer, but nothing happened.

Instead, he silently gasped a bit before closing it up, looking unable to say anything at all.

Geralt gently shook him, not hard enough to hurt him but sufficiently to get him out of his shock-like state.

“What happened, little lark?” he asked, even worried about him “Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?”

Jasier’s face was burning at this point.

He looked like he was choking on his own words.  
“I-I-I” he babbled, trying to recompose himself, unsuccessfully “I... Geralt please” he managed to say, looking… wrecked “D-don’t make me s-say it. I… trust me, you don’t want to hear what I was about to say. You-”

“No, I want to. Say it” Geralt stopped him, trying to catch his wandering gaze.

“Why” Jaskier cried out, slightly moving away from him “So you can point out how silly I am? Laugh at me? Or maybe push me away for my own fucking good? Fuck, what was I thinking about!” he painted with once again watery eyes “You already know what I was about to say, Geralt, so please, don’t. Just… don’t. This is on me. It’s not your fault either, but I’m asking you to not mock me at least” he finished, seeming more in distress than he ever be.

Seeing him like that made Geralt immediately regretted he talked.

He rapidly shook his head, having the decency to look embarrassed.

“No, Jaskier, wait” he said, ruefully “I… I don’t want to-I’m not trying to mock you, I swear. I… you’re right, I kind of got what were you about to say, yes. I just- I really want to… I mean…” he muttered, slowly dropping the conversation.

What is he thinking about?  
“What. You really want to _what_?” Jaskier said, desperately trying to make sense out of the witcher’s words.

“Hmmm” Geralt grunted back, shaking his head “Never mind” he tried to take a step back, recoiling from the dangerous ground.

Jaskier let out a strangled sound, something resembling a very hysterical laugh.

“Uh uh, oh, no” he answered, looking at him, eyes now burning with something Geralt could not define or name “Don’t you _dare_ back out now, you coward. You _what,_ Geralt? You really want to hear what I was about to say? Fine! You want to know how stupid I am? You want to hear how foolish I’ve been? Poor me! I make such a ridiculous person, Geralt. Come on, go ahead! Tell me you want to hear it! So you can tell me what an idiot and crazy and foolish and whatever bard I’ve been, falling so desperately in love with a big, stupid, unlovable mess of a Witcher I-”

He suddenly stopped in the middle of his rambling, not even bothering to yelp at the jolt of pain that struck him when Geralt lifted him up not so gently, too shocked by the fact that the Witcher’s lips were now pressing against his.

He froze for a moment, stiffening before relaxing again, letting his eyes shut.

He kissed him back, carefully, his hand quietly squeezing at his shoulder, steadying him in the position he was put into.

A soft and shy kiss, all gentle press and tender move.

There were no rush in their mouths as they savored that new feeling, slowly learning how the other’s lips felt like - Jaskier’s softer despite being chapped, the witcher’s more rough - how they tasted, how their shaped perfectly matched.

Jaskier was the first one to draw back a bit to watch him, looking surprised and shocked but in kind of a good way.

His blue eyes was filled with disbelief, but also more shining than ever.

“Why” he whispered, softly “I mean, no. Wait. I get why, thank you very much. At least I hope so. But how… when did you… so you… how long have you- _fuck_ so you...I mean… _me?_ Are you sure you- I’m just… really amazed because you just- I mean, who on Earth could ever even _imagine_ you-”

He stopped again, this time tanks to the finger Geralt had graciously pressed against his still partially opened mouth.

“ _Jaskier”_ he gently scolded, amused by the bard’s reaction-also secretly relieved to hear him talk again without that panicking note in his tone and happy he didn’t rejected him, but he didn’t need to know about that “Do you _ever_ shut the fuck up?”

Jaskier smirked, slowly licking his lips, even brushing up his finger.

“ _Well_ ” he answered “I usually don’t, but I’ve heard about a Witcher capable to put a certain bard’s mouth to rest…” he said, carelessly “or at least to put it to work in a different way. Wish we can try it” 

Geralt grinned, lifting him up a bit so he could speak near his mouth, lips almost touching.

“Careful what you wish for, Jaskier” he teased “I’ve also heard a story. It was about a very stubborn bard who didn’t want to tell a Witcher a thing he wanted to hear so-”

“I love you” Jaskier stopped him quickly, smiling, his voice soft and sweet “Not a problem saying it knowing you’ll not ask me if I have hit my head, pushing me away once more. Giving that chance, I preferred keeping it for me and stay by your side as a friend but… now that I know you love me back - because you do, don’t you?” he asked, frowning, slightly baking off to have a better view on his face.

He seemed amazingly worried.

Geralt gently passed his fingers on his forehead, smoothening it, amused by his so concerned look.

“Yes, I do” he answered, cradling him a little “I do, Jaskier”

He opened up in a smile brighter than the sun, looking delighted as he curled up against him, falling silent and closing his eyes.

He looked tired, probably the conversation had worn him out.

Geralt softly looked at him, sighing a bit at the sight of his missing hand.

“I promise we’ll find a way to make you play again” he said.

In response, Jaskier puffed, shaking weakly his head.  
“Don’t make promise you can’t keep. We’ll see. There's still time to think about it” he muttered, the sound of his drowsy voice muffled by his chest “Just promise me you’ll be there when I wake up. And that this is not a dream I’m having because of the fever”

Geralt squeezed him a bit, nodding.

“I promise you this is not an hallucination, Jaskier. And I’ll be here. I swear” he said.  
At least, that was something he was determined to do.

He watched the bard as he quietly and rapidly fell asleep, gently cradling him.

Truth be told, he still couldn’t wrap his head around how Jaskier could have fallen in love with him, but he knew one thing for sure: he was one hell of a lucky Witcher. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Written because the ship has sailed and I couldn't stop. This is probably the first time I write so much in English, so I hope you enjoyed it! >//<  
> Toss a kudos (or even better, a comment) to your writer if you want, it'd be very much appreciated <3


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